


Milestones

by Monochrome_Eyes



Series: Writings [6]
Category: Amulet (Graphic Novels)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Eye Trauma, Gen, I mean we all know what happens to him right, Implied/Referenced Brainwashing, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Torture, Isolation, Or in which the Elf King is eight different levels of fucked up, Starvation, and I wanna practice my writing, and sad, he suffered but he's gonna be ok, i think???, sorry if this is kind of messed up I was sleep deprived
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-08
Updated: 2019-04-08
Packaged: 2020-01-06 23:28:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18398522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Monochrome_Eyes/pseuds/Monochrome_Eyes
Summary: In which, tells the different important periods in Trellis's life under the Elf King.





	Milestones

The first time they saw the child in a while, was a couple of days after the execution.

 

It was unexpected, to say the least, to discover the King's brother eventually shed his true colours as a traitor. His acting was impressive, too impressive perhaps, that it was a hard and harsh thing to accept that all of his kind and mentor-like nature is nothing more than an act. He was in denial at first of course, but then again, traitors have no true faces, only masks. Who was the King to lie?

 

Still, the prince and the uncle were close, the latter served as his caretaker and tutor for years ever since he was graciously taken in after being abandoned by his disgraceful mother. It's disapproving but understandable that he would mourn nonetheless, be in denial of the truth even. But he would come around for sure. The child is as smart as a whip with tongue that is brutal and sharp like knives. He's sensible, not emotional.

 

He was not expecting him to be standing dutifully in front of the King, trembling slightly as a shadow writhes and twists around him, with a bandage on his left eye.

 

It was... Unnerving, admittedly, seeing him stiff and face vacant, pupils narrowed into sharp slits. Whatever that had happened, whatever slight the prince did against his father, an injury to the eye is too much. He swallows down his unease and fear. As much as he is horrified, there is nothing he can do. The King's word is law. A cut on a face is a justified punishment, no matter what the affront is.

 

Even then, he shows no shred of emotion. He is aware that Prince Trellis is unusually serious and grim for his age, regardless that he barely knows him aside a few information gossiped within the castle walls but this... It feels like what standing in place is an even bigger stranger, something... Something **wrong**.

 

 

The King calls for him. The prince snaps obediently in attention.

 

 

His eyes widen. Prince Trellis **never** acts like that.

 

 

The King gives orders. Prince Trellis uncharacteristically stays silent, taking in every trickle of questionable instructions rasped by the ancient King with the patience of a saint, before bowing in respect, as his father dismisses him and he leaves, almost as if manipulated like a puppet on string, with the shadow trailing behind. There was no ounce of protest, no concrete and well-structured arguments. Just terrifying, willful obedience.

 

He feels a chill shudder down his spine. Everything just screams WRONG WRONG WRONG but he feels powerless, paralyzed in a way that makes him scared even more. He detests the prince's defiant personality but seeing him like this is...

 

Calm down. He must calm down. Logi, the sniding little bastard is staring at him with those mischievous and deceitful eyes. A small elf, below even the likes of the poorest citizen, but he casts a large shadow due to his closeness to tell King, to his great disgust. The slightest misstep, could lead him to the gallows.

 

The safest thing he could do, is to ignore. And ignore he did. Loyal as he may be to the Royal house of Elves, he has no right nor business to interfere or even express his thoughts on how they run things.

 

It does not keep him from feeling the sense of WRONG. It does not keep him from worrying about the prince, regardless of this may be costing his life.

 

It does not keep him from being terrified as more wrongs pile on more and more when it appears the Prince Luger ceases treating Prince Trellis as his own brother.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The child had been escorted here with his eye bleeding profusely.

 

Well, not his _eye_ — thank the ancestors it was spared — but the deep laceration was flowing a bit _too_ much that they couldn't simply slap a bandage on it and he could go. The poor dear required stitches, and he needed it _fast_.

 

What was the most worrying, was how nonchalant he seems to be in the midst of this.

 

It was incredibly convenient though, to have him sit there passively and not actually crying and shrieking as a child would do if his face was cut in some horrific way, but a convenient child is not necessarily a healthy one. And this _clearly_ screams many red flags of disturbing. 

 

Once her initial panic settles down, she comforts him, or tries to anyway even though the situation doesn't seem to warrant it. The prince's eye — his uninjured one — is uncomfortably piercing, yet blank. It felt cold and sharp like a blade, the ominous feeling making her shudder, especially troubling to know that this  _feeling_ is coming from a child.

 

She tries not to think about the specks of blood splattered across his nose and cheeks, and she tries not to remember seeing the King's hand dripping with blood. She tries not to let horror dawn on her face once she realizes what has happened to the boy.

 

She cannot help but tremble in inexpicable fear as the shadow (a pet?) curls around her wrists while she carefully cleans his wound, but it thankfully does not harm her. Her gentle murmurs of assurances seems to fall on deaf ears as he doesn't even muster a reaction, not even a wince or hiss of pain, as the needle pierces his skin, as the thread tugs in it as she pulls it, slightly stained with blood. It is finally taken care of once she wraps a bandage.

 

  
Do not let the wound get wet after a day or two, she firmly instructs the escort, who gives her a frown at her tone but she ignores it. Clean it gently with soap near the wound but do not let it touch the stitches. Lightly dry it with a cloth, and replace its bandages. Please bring him back here after a few days, or if it got infected.

 

The escort nods his assent. Then leaves with the prince, who quietly trails behind, along with his odd little shadow and the cold aura. She looks at theur retreating backs with worry, but she does not call him back.

 

The child has come back a week later from a mission issued by the King, with his left eye throbbing red and stiches oozing with green pus. It was unanimously agreed his vision in that eye will suffer a bit due to the infection. It was also unanimously agreed to use staples instead. She was too horrified to even work.

 

 

  
His skin grew over the staples.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

Water barely ripples in a cup, centered on a tray by a servant thoroughly trained to provide flawlessly silent service. Their shoes echoes in the dark, stone corridor. It was a bit rather cold, for the comfort of the Royalty living there regardless of the desert's heat but now serves as nothing more but as added misery to the loneliness. She can't imagine what It felt like for the prince.

 

They have ordered her to only provide water, 5 times a day. His punishment this time was only three whole days. No contact, no food. The closest interaction he would have in those days would be her providing the water and they do not even talk or touch one another. She simply slips in the glass in the recently added slot at the bottom of the door. The glass always return empty.

 

To serve as a lesson, they told her, she disagress but she cannot — not _allowed_ — to speak anything about this, the prince must learn his place.

 

This, unfortunately, has already happened a few times.

 

Even then, she barely caught a glimpse of the boy. She does not know him well, and she knows little, aside from the scar and that he's quiet. Too quiet.

 

From the few spare moments she manages to get a look at the boy — once the King decides his punishment is over and the guards come for him — there are times she sees him curled into a ball, knees up with his arms covering his face, shaking like a leaf as the shadow curls around him like an ethereal blanket. He always flinches and curls tighter once the guards grabs him (harshly. **Always** so harshly. Do they not realize he's — ?).

 

There are times she sees him sprawled on the floor, face too grey to even be healthy, barely conscious, too weak at the lack of food, this time the shadow erratic. The guards would then frantically get him into the infirmary.

 

There are times that his face would be bruised, his knuckles red and skinned, but his eyes would always look tired and harsh. The scar on his face was haunting.

 

His room is too bare for a child, too unlivable except for the basic necessities of a bed not slept in, a desk unused, and a window he can't escape from.

 

 

He seems to become smaller, and hollower every time.

 

 

Her heart wrenches at this but her every step, every move requires her mind and her precision. She can't step out of line. Not even the slightest. No one would remember a servant.

 

But she still finds herself in front of his door — firmly, mercilessly locked from the outside to drive home how powerless he is in his own room — deeply conflicted. She stares for a few moments at the dark, intricate grain of the door before crouching and sliding the slot open and slipping the glass through.

 

As usual, a small, shaky hand comes through but this time, in a small window of opportunity, of kindness and pity, she grabs it gently.

 

The hand instantly tries to pull back, but she holds on. She then tries to trace light circles on the battered knuckles. He doesn't protest, seemingly stilled in shock. It doesn't properly portray her complex message to the prince as words could, but it tells genuinely all the same.

 

 

_It'll be okay._

 

 

As quick as it started, she stands abruptly, and leaves. Pretending whatever had occurred before never happened. But Trellis would remember, even in the midst of the haze of his missing memories, that comforting touch.

 

A different servant serves the glass at his next punishment. She is no longer there for quite some time. She has disappeared under mysterious circumstances.

 

 

* * *

 

 

  
Apparently, the prince's submissive personality couldn't last at least a few more years. Much less forever. His obedience was good while it lasted, though.

 

He was quite outspoken back then, but he's even louder now, this time without an ounce of sense his younger self had. All he seemed to do is to whine and complain. What a brat.

 

The soldier can't help but sneer at the pathetic runt of an elf. His former clean cut hair is starting to grow out to become stringy and lank, his eyes tired but cruel. He looked smaller in his armour that was too big on him. The disgraceful bastard now has a scar, and his faithful pet is forever by his side. He wasn't a prince in anything but name. The title is nothing more than a mockery, and it has since lost the power and respect it once had. And as far as he knows, he hasn't done anything that earns it.

 

Prone to failure on the field, he's heard from one of his fellow soldiers, who had been muttering curses under his breath. Brat can barely lift a sword, his stone power weak, and Luger always, _always_  ruthlessly wipes the floor with him. Whatever former gifts he had for tactics apparently, has gone to some metaphysical drain. Here he thought the prince's gift of wits might change the war, especially he was disconcertingly clever for his age when he was much younger, yet now... Not so much. Rebellious, hot-headed, arrogant, and hesitant to boot. All the things that will get you killed, if you weren't so stupidly lucky. He supposed being a prince has its benefits. Most of us here, he thought bitterly, would be executed for it.

 

The most frustrating was his hesitance, surprisingly. Yes, he could deal with arrogant morons all day, they're dimes a dozen in the army but ancestors forbid if you waste few precious seconds seemingly conflicted with nothing, and having wicked headaches during it. Goodness, he sure does like faking it. The shadow doesn't seem to be of much help, flickering in and out of vision but a constant companion nonetheless.

 

Oh dear. The prince have yet said  something he's going to regret yet again, the King's displeasure permeating the room. For all of his disdain towards the prince, he can't help but feel pity whenever he say something that crosses a line. His status keeps him from a trip to the gallows, but its alternative is often much worse that a hanging may be a mercy. It certainly seems so, try as he might not to let a fraction of his emotions show to his face as Trellis screams as he is taken away by the guards, as they always do whenever he acts up. They are warranted to.

 

He usually comes back from a few hours to a few days, depending on the severity and how early he recovers. He shows up again, with repercussions of his disobedience; from black eyes to a starving and dehydrated body to bruised face to broken limbs. He becomes mute for a while after the punishment, before time passes and he acts up again. A tedious little routine they got used to, eventually.

 

Sure enough, he does come back days later, along with his gaseous pet. The prince seems to tremble ever so slightly, eyes haunted, his legs feeble. He sits, cautiously and carefully maneuvering his body. He does not let his back touch his seat.

 

A whipping, he thought to himself with a huff. Good riddance.

 

 

* * *

 

 

He remembers the day he was brought to Luger and Virgil. He was cold, excruciatingly cold and numb and hollow. He cannot move his body, lacking the will and strength to do so. His mother was gone. He didn't know what he was supposed to do. What made up his entire world, is already dead. He is a bastard child, he's young, but that doesn't mean he didn't knew — he hardly couldn't when all his life is about avoiding the Elf Army as not to capture him and his mother, thus he has no place in this world. He no longer has any purpose to live for. He is a refugee, an elf, a son of the Elf King. No one wanted him, aside from his mother.

 

But Virgil took him in nonetheless. A child born out of wedlock made no difference to him. He nursed him back to health. He fed him, gave him something to drink. He gave him clothes to wear, bed to sleep in, a place to call home. People to call family.

 

He was introduced to books and to learning. He was introduced to safety and comfort. He was introduced to the village and became one of them.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

He gave him a reason to live for.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

In the midst of the suffering, the child remembers the kindness. He cannot remember names or recall memories, he cannot point out what may be the reason why he can't seem to succumb into despair. He himself does not quite understand why it can't seem to extinguish.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

What mattered, is that he had hope.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> *barges in with angst fic* Hello I am sorry for writing this. Am sad and emotional.
> 
> Also so pleased to see writing has improved. God this feels better than back then
> 
> Notes:
> 
> • Okay, let's just headcanon that Trellis's eye grade on his left eye is suffering quite a lot due to the infection, thus leaving half of his vision rather blurred but he makes do.  
> • About his frequent failures and hesitance... I always theorized that even though Trellis is seemingly unaware that he's being controlled, there are times his real self tries to take the wheel, trying to overcome Sybrian. This causes him to freeze at critical moments, leading to a lot of failure on the field. Yeah the King doesn't really like that  
> • Friendly reminder that even though Trellis only seem to have three braincells he is indeed, pretty smart! Too smart perhaps, that even as a young age he's considered as a walking library and a prodigy like his brother, and a scary threat to the aliens to boot. Their solution is to make him dumb via wiping his memories. Too bad he's still pretty smart  
> • At the start Trellis is still pretty demure due to the mindwipe, but thanks to effects of being possessed by Sybrian that brings out hostility and the way people treat him... Yeah he's def gonna act as he would in his situation. Oh sorry Karen that wasn't teenager angst that was child abuse
> 
>  
> 
> Aaaand I think those are the only things needed explaining. Thank you!  
>  
> 
> Aaaaa I have no idea how to write endings


End file.
